


Ensnared

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Creature Castiel, Desert Island, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Sailor Dean, Siren Castiel, shipwrecked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: As the current pulls him a little closer to the island, the singing grows stronger. It’s deep and lyrical and the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and he’s suddenly overcome by the desperate, searing need to be closer, to hear it in all its intended glory.And as he passes a single spur of rock that juts out a little further into the ocean than the others, Dean sees him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3! Long time appreciator of wonderful fic, first time poster. Huge shoutout to [Makenna](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com), without whom I never would've gotten this out, and for beta-ing and general enthusiasm.
> 
> Please enjoy.

The thing he never realized, when he was swinging across the rigging and gazing out over the great expanse of dark water, is how cold the sea truly is.

Dean is sure, as he clings to one of the few shattered remnants of the Impala’s hull, that he’s never been this cold in his life. The chill of the stormy water seeps into his bones, drags at his clothing, freezing fingers trailing across his skin and trying to entice him down into the depths where maybe, possibly, he can know warmth again.

After hours of floating adrift in the sea, tossed about by the waves, Dean’s arms are too numb to reposition around the plank of wood. His cheek is pressed to the rough grain, green eyes blinking sluggishly at the stars over the horizon every few seconds as his teeth chatter loud enough to wake the dead. 

He’s tried screaming for help. He screamed until his voice gave out, as the black-flagged ship disappeared over the horizon, as a merchant vessel passed in the distance, as dusk slowly gave way to night. He screamed until he realized that there was no use in screaming – that this is how he’s destined to die.

Alone, freezing, clinging to a piece of the ship that was once his home. 

When the ruthless currents of the ocean pull him past a small, rocky outcrop of an island, he can only stare blankly at the moon-washed stones and the hint of vegetation beyond. Life is cruel, he thinks with one of the few remaining shreds of his energy. To nearly deposit him here, where he might have a chance of surviving – but for the current to carry him past after he’s been adrift for so long and his limbs feel leaden, as if they’ll never move again. He’ll never make it.

But that’s when he hears it. 

He lifts his head – a gargantuan effort – and blinks at the rocky shoreline, at the jagged outcrops waiting to cruelly splinter a ship to pieces. Dean swears he can hear something. 

A melody.

As the current pulls him a little closer to the island, it grows stronger. It’s deep and lyrical and the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and he’s suddenly overcome by the desperate, searing need to be closer, to hear it in all its intended glory. And as he passes a single spur of rock that juts out a little further into the ocean than the others, Dean sees him.

There is a man lounging on the stone, his head tipped back and eyes half lidded as he croons into the night air. He seems uncaring of the chill; the man is completely nude, sprawled across the outcrop in such a way that leaves the great paintings of history resembling nothing more than a child’s crude sketches. His skin is pale in contrast to the darkness of the sky, the water, even his messy, salt-stiffened hair.

He is beautiful, and were he back on land with shore leave, Dean would be trying every trick he knows to entice the stunning man into his bed. As it is, though, he can barely lift his head. But that song, that song. It’s so pure and beautiful that Dean wants to cry and again, the compulsion to be close to the man nearly overwhelms him. He can’t make out any words, but the man’s voice is husky and deep and his crooning carries across the now eerily flat water to Dean.

And then he looks up, the barest of motions, and his eyes are lagoon-blue and so piercing that they seem to see into his very soul and suddenly Dean needs to be close to the man. He feels that he’ll die if he isn’t, lured closer by the haunting melody that carries in the still night air. 

It takes all his strength to pry his stiff, frozen arms from the wreckage. The siren simply watches as Dean’s heavy limbs churn weakly at the water in a desperate attempt to close the distance.

He never stops singing.

Dean doesn’t even make it halfway before he just can’t keep himself afloat any more. He’s so cold, and so tired.

The last thing he sees is a flash of blue eyes and a sharp-toothed smirk, and then the water closes over his head.

 ~~~ 

The final few notes fade into the night air as the man disappears below the surface, and Castiel watches with detached interest and a lazy smirk as fingertips graze at the top of the waves before being swallowed up. He stretches languidly, lean muscles flexing under smooth skin, and eyes the patch of water where the man disappeared.

A few bubbles rise to the surface, and Castiel frowns.

He hadn’t been hungry, when he’d sung to the half frozen man clinging to a piece of driftwood. He ate yesterday – a short, stout man in a rowboat who thought he was a busty, blonde woman until he’d gotten close enough for Castiel to sink his teeth into and his screams had echoed off the rocks as he realized the siren’s true nature. So when he’d sung to the man with green eyes - already on death’s door, from the look of him – he had simply been… bored? Curious? Honestly, he’s not quite sure.

What was surprising, though, was that Castiel had been too lazy to properly conceal himself – what the man had seen was him, just made human. No sharp teeth or slitted pupils or claws or webbed hands and feet. The song doesn’t work if the men don’t like what they see. And yet, for what is essentially him in human form, the man had let go of his anchor to life and made an attempt to reach him, however pitiful. It’s never happened before.

Hence the frown.

Why does he care about this one insignificant speck of a man? Castiel has been alive for centuries. He’s destroyed more ships than he can remember, and each time completely without remorse.

So why does he feel a sharp pang of guilt sitting just beneath his sternum?

The bubbles are fewer now, and after a few seconds no more rise to the surface. The man is surely dead.

Castiel doesn’t know why he cares. But the guilt isn’t going away.

His muscles coil and bunch as he shifts and launches himself from the rocky outcrop, plunging beneath the water. He dives with steady, strong movements, webbed hands and feet pushing him further beneath the surface in pursuit of the man who is simply floating in the dark water, a marionette with its strings cut. Castiel was right – there are no more bubbles – but he has to at least try. He hooks his hands under the sailor’s arms and drives them both upwards with powerful strokes of his legs. 

When they break the surface, Castiel sucks in a lungful of air. The man in his arms does no such thing. Castiel’s eyes widen, and he tightens his grip on the man’s shirt. It’s more than likely that he’s killed this green-eyed man.

In just a few moments, he’s bundling the man up onto his rock, hauling himself up out of the water in a graceful movement. Where the water sluices off him, it clings to the sailor, to his sodden clothes, and while Castiel doesn’t feel it, the cold must surely be too much for the man. When Castiel rests his clawed fingers gently on the man’s cheek and tilts his head towards the siren, he sees that his lips are blue. 

There is no rise and fall to the man’s chest, but when Castiel’s fingers slide down to the pulse point just below his jaw, he feels it. It’s faint, but it’s there.

He’s fighting.

The sailor’s lips part easily as Castiel slides his thumb over them, cold and slack beneath his touch. He’s seen people with the ability to breathe life back into the almost-dead, but he’s not practiced in the art. Besides, having fed yesterday, he’s at full strength.

With a precise swipe of one clawed finger, he splits the man’s shirt down to his navel and presses his palm to the man’s chest. The siren’s eyes glow in the moonlight as he begins to sing – a low, mournful melody, weaving each of the notes together until the sound rises and falls with the pulse of a heartbeat. The sailor’s heartbeat. It’s weak and erratic, but Castiel pours his power into it and listens to it grow stronger.

He sings and sings until he feels that he has nothing left to give. The heartbeat grows stronger, but there is no movement from the man beneath his palm. He’s about to give up, exhausted, when the man lying sprawled across the stone inhales minutely.

A moment later, Castiel is scrambling back as the man jackknifes, wracking coughs shuddering his whole frame as he tries to expel the seawater settled heavy in his lungs. He watches from a distance as the man heaves over the edge of the rock, vomiting up bile and water until there’s nothing left. 

For all his years and experience, Castiel has never saved someone from the brink of death like this. He still doesn’t understand why he was compelled to do so. So he simply watches the man from a safe distance, a frown creasing Castiel’s brow as he begins to shiver. Castiel had been focused on returning the sailor’s breath, not his warmth, but he doesn’t know if he can get close enough to help now that the man is awake.

He utters a soft sound of concern, and the sailor whirls to face him. Castiel flinches forwards slightly as the man wobbles, not wanting him to fall back into the sea. Their eyes meet across the few feet between them, and Castiel hadn’t realized just how green the man’s eyes truly are. The distance had not done them justice. 

But now they’re clouded by fear and confusion as the man takes in Castiel’s appearance – his claws, his sharp teeth. He hunches his shoulders under the man’s scrutiny, his gaze flitting over the sailor, trying to determine what his next move will be. Castiel is crouched between him and the vegetation that lies beyond the rocky edge of the island.

The man doesn’t look as though he’s going to attack, though – his body shakes with a wracking cough, and he’s shivering violently now. 

Castiel edges closer, hands held up to show he means no harm. He can’t help but notice the way that the man’s gaze flicks over his nude body, even in his true form as he is. It’s flattering, but now is not the time. The sailor bites out a curse word as Castiel shifts forwards again in his crouch, and the siren pauses to identify the language. The western tongue has evolved in the last few decades, it seems. Still, it won’t be any trouble.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells the man, his voice hoarse and rough. He can’t remember the last time he actually spoke, instead of just singing.

The sailor flinches back, but it seems to have been a reaction born of surprise, not fear or anger. “You speak?” He winces, as though the rasping words had scratched at his already raw throat, and Castiel shifts with the need to soothe him, ease his pain.

He settles for a small nod. He’s never been this close to a human without eating them, and he’s not sure what he should be doing. Castiel edges a little closer, holding out his hand. 

This time, the sailor doesn’t move, just watches him. Eventually, the man is within arms’ reach, and Castiel’s fingertips hover just shy of the man’s chest. There is a question in his eyes, and when the man gives a tiny nod, the touches his hand to the expanse of tanned skin.

This time, when he sings, it’s soft and lyrical, reminiscent of lazy days spent lounging under the warm sun. The sailor relaxes beneath his touch, his lips parting around a soft sigh, and when Castiel is done they are no longer blue. 

The siren settles back on his heels and this time, when he smiles, the sailor returns it ever so slightly. He presses a hand to his own bare chest and murmurs, “Castiel.”

The sailor’s smile widens – he knows Castiel isn’t a threat to him now, and he’s glad of that. He doesn’t want the beautiful man to hate him or be scared of him.

Castiel watches, blue eyes wide, as the man points to himself, next to the black star over his heart. 

“Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com)! Come check me out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, due to popular demand and because I have an abundance of time.
> 
> Betaed (sleepily) by the wonderful [Makenna](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com).

Castiel is… not as scary as Dean expected him to be – for someone who tried to drown him. The siren is remarkably shy around him, sneaking sidelong looks at Dean as they sit on the rock side by side, not speaking, just waiting for Dean to regain some of his energy. For someone who is so attractive that Dean literally threw himself from the one thing that was keeping him alive just to be closer, the siren is also remarkably self-conscious about his own appearance. Every time he catches Dean looking at him, he blushes, the pale red spreading across his cheeks as his big blue eyes blink owlishly up at Dean.

The man is beautiful, and kinda adorable, but he’s also… a creature. Dean is reminded of that every time he catches a glimpse of sharp teeth, every time he meets Castiel’s gaze and sees slitted pupils, every time the siren shifts his hands and Dean glimpses webbed fingers and claws.

This man may have saved Dean’s life, but that wasn’t before first trying to kill him. Dean doesn’t want to label him a monster, but… how many other people has he killed? 

He’s too exhausted for those kinds of thoughts right now.

Castiel’s song keeps him warm throughout the night, as the two sit in silence, watching the stars and, occasionally, stealing glances at each other. The constellations skate across the sky, east to west, and Dean doesn’t realize that he’s drifted off to sleep until he opens his eyes again and the constellations have shifted and there’s a warm weight against his side, propping him up.

He’s been drooling on Castiel’s shoulder – a blush burns across his cheeks like wildfire as he straightens up, but as he does so, the constellations in the sky spin dizzyingly. For a second, he tries to focus on them, and then there are strong hands gripping his shoulders and all he can see is _blue_.

Castiel blinks at him, his concern clear in his catlike eyes. “Sleep,” he rumbles. Dean believes he may be right. The edges of his vision are going blurry, and there’s not much he can do to fight the bone deep weariness pulling at his limbs and drawing him back into sleep.

~~~

When Dean wakes, he’s stretched out on the sand. He raises a hand to groggily rub at his eyes, taking a moment to get his bearings. He’s been covered in something – palm fronds, he finds out as he squints against the early morning sun – and the sand is warm against his bare back.

A second quick check, braving the light, confirms that he is in fact not wearing his clothes. Not that they’d been helping him much anyway, considering their wet, torn state, but Dean would really rather not be waking up naked and alone, shipwrecked on a tropical island.

He groans as he levers himself up into a sitting position, his muscles protesting the hours he spent in the freezing ocean clinging to a piece of wood, and he grumbles to himself as he tries to brush sand out of unfortunate places. One palm frond stays safely positioned in his lap.

On either side of him, the golden beach stretches out for several hundred yards before it curves and disappears behind the forest. It must not be a big island, then. To his right are the rocks where Castiel had been perched, extending out into deeper water in points that could smash a ship into splinters.

Right now, Dean doesn’t want to think about if, or how many times, they have.

Slowly, muscles screaming, he hauls himself up to his feet. Castiel isn’t around – at least, not that he can see – so Dean lets the palm frond fall in favour of keeping his hands free. In case his legs decide to give out on him, and he needs them to catch his fall in the soft sand.

As Castiel is likely the only person (a term used loosely) around, it stands to reason that he was the one who stripped Dean and laid him out on the sand with a blanket of palm fronds. Dean isn’t so interested in the process of stripping – isn’t sure how to feel about it, so just stays away from the topic – as much as he’s interested in where his clothes actually ended up.

As soon as he turns towards the forest, his back to the sea, he spies his shirt and breeches hanging from a tree branch to dry in the sun, his boots sitting on the ground just below them, looking much more limp and bedraggled.

His feet slide in the sand, his muscles weak after almost drowning and also simply not accustomed to walking on land, but he’s able to make it to the tree without too much of a struggle. Touching his fingertips to his clothing only confirms that it’s still damp, with his boots in an even worse state, and Dean would rather not endure the chafing that donning his clothes would result in. So, as uncomfortable as it makes him, he should be fine going nude for the time being.

At least, he thinks that, until he hears a soft gasp, just barely audible over the rush and hiss of the waves.

Castiel is standing in the waves, the water lapping at his strong, tanned thighs. In each hand is a large, limp, silver fish, and his eyes are wide with shock as he stares at Dean from the water.

From what he’s seen of the siren, he was probably too shy and respectful to sneak too much of a peek when Dean was asleep, but now that Dean is walking around naked and showing his body to the world… It’s probably not Castiel’s fault that the evidence of his arousal is hanging heavy between his legs.

Still, Dean swallows and glances away with his cheeks flushing crimson, feeling very exposed and very much uncomfortable with the whole situation. Chafing or not, he reaches for his breeches and tugs them on, wincing as they rub at his skin. Castiel makes a soft sound of what may be a mix of concern and disapproval, but Dean can’t look at him right now. Instead, he leans against the tree and gazes out towards the end of the island. He can hear the soft splashes of Castiel wading his way out of the water, and doesn’t look towards the siren until Cas is kneeling a few feet away from Dean, setting the fish down on one of the discarded palm fronds.

Dean tries not to let his gaze settle on the muscle definition of his back or his strong, thick thighs, instead focusing on the fish until blue eyes are gazing up at him.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks, and god, that voice. It’s almost as sexy as his singing.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s fucking starving, but he pulls a face of disgust at the two fish. “Yeah,” he begins, but that’s as far as he gets, because after swallowing seawater and having slept for a couple of hours, his voice is nothing but a rasping croak. Dean clears his throat and tries again, with the same result.

Castiel frowns up at him, his head tilted to the side – Dean has to admit that it’s very endearing. “I will fetch you some water,” he tells Dean, who barely has time to avert his gaze before the siren is brushing past him and disappearing into the trees.

Well, then.

If he has to eat the fish, he’s damn well not going to do it raw. Dean spends the next few minutes gathering what brush and twigs he can from the edge of the forest and scraping out a shallow fire pit in the sand. With his limbs heavy and exhausted and his muscles protesting, it takes longer than usual.

He’s sitting by the small pyre and trying to figure out how he can light it when Castiel reappears from the trees. While Dean is getting used to his nudity a little more now, he still blushes and glances away for a moment, until the siren is kneeling beside him and pushing a large leaf into his hands. It’s been cupped into a bowl, and Dean only realizes how dry his mouth feels when he catches sight of the fresh water contained inside.

Dean gulps down the water in a matter of seconds and this time, when he speaks, his words resemble actual words and not just guttural croaks. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and Castiel positively beams at his words, ducking his head shyly. Slitted eyes flick up to meet his gaze, then shift to Dean’s efforts at a fire.

Again, the head tilt, and then Castiel is shuffling closer to the twigs and setting his hands on them.

Dean could never tire of listening to the siren sing. While it isn’t the summoning song specifically – it sounds very similar to the song of warmth, actually, hearing those beautiful, low notes uttered so perfectly into the early morning air makes him shiver. He wants to press closer to the siren, to have Cas sing just for him, the melody winding around him, over and under, until he’s completely surrounded by it.

The twigs burst into flames and Castiel yelps and scrambles back, breaking the spell as he stares wide-eyed at the fire. He looks almost shocked. “I hadn’t expected that to work,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he turns his wide gaze on Dean. “You can use that to cook the fish.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that is almost teasing, as if he’d noticed the look of disgust that Dean had given the raw fish and figured out that Dean needed to cook it to eat it.

Dean wonders just how smart the siren is. He’s only heard tales of them, tales that portray sirens as vicious creatures with no care or respect for human life. No compassion.

Those people who change their tune pretty quickly if they could see Cas, with his shyness and curiosity and gentle amusement.

Dean leaves the siren to be mesmerized by the fire and climbs (rather ungracefully) to his feet. The wet breeches chafe uncomfortably with every step, but he doesn’t trust himself to be around Cas unclothed. More to the point, he doesn’t trust his body, and he’d like at least a thin shield of cotton if his situation becomes… precarious.

It doesn’t take him long to forage two long, sturdy sticks from the treeline, and he skewers the fish on them from mouth to tail before heading back to the fire. Cas gives him an amused look, but takes the proffered stick, holding the fish out over the flames to let it cook as Dean does the same. He has no idea if Cas will actually want to eat it – do sirens eat anything other than… people? – but he figures that even if he doesn’t, the siren can at least cook it for Dean to eat.

Castiel shuffles closer on the sand, and the way that he conspicuously avoids Dean’s curious gaze makes the sailor chuckle. He’s content, though, to just sit there beside Cas, the two of them holding their fish over the fire to cook and watching the sun rise over the horizon.

It’s only when Dean bites into the tender flesh of the cooked fish that he realizes just how hungry he is, moaning around the mouthful. If he gets a few bones in there, it’s not a big deal – he’s too hungry to care, and demolishes almost half the fish before he opens his eyes for a small break and catches Castiel staring at him.

The siren glances away and hides his face almost as soon as Dean moves, but he’s not quite quick enough to hide the wide-eyed, pink-cheeked expression and slack jaw from Dean. For a siren, Cas is remarkably shy, and Dean can’t help but give the man a teasing nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

Castiel glares back up at him, though Dean can see the remnants of that pink flush still lingering across his cheekbones. It’s only once Dean has finished his fish – discarding the head, spine and tail to be disposed of later – that he speaks up.

“You gonna eat that, Cas?”

The siren starts, his head whipping around to look at Dean, then to the fish still skewered on the end of his stick and grilling over the fire – almost as if he’d forgotten about it. Wordlessly, he hands it to Dean, something unreadable in his eyes. Dean would prod at it, curious, but his main focus is on finishing his breakfast.

When he’s halfway through, Castiel speaks, his gaze fixed resolutely out over the water. “Cas?” He asks, and though he looks nonchalant about the question, Dean can sense that there’s _something_ behind it – in the hunch of his shoulders, the tone of his voice, the way he shifts like he wants to glance over at Dean.

It takes the sailor a moment to realize what he’s talking about. Cas. The nickname. He’s given the siren a nickname without really thinking about it.

“Uh…” He begins, and Castiel chooses this moment to look up at Dean with those big blue eyes, which flick between Dean’s own and the blush steadily creeping across his cheeks. “It’s, um, a nickname. Y’know. Because ‘Castiel’ is a cool name but kinda long, and ‘Cas’ is just… easier.” Castiel’s doing that head tilt thing again and damn it, it’s just too adorable. “Friends give each other nicknames. It’s just… a thing,” he finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck and taking another bite of the fish in the hope that he won’t dig himself into a hole.

Cas looks like he’s ruminating on Dean’s explanation.

Finally, the siren beams up at him, and Dean finds himself grinning back. “I like it,” Cas declares, and Dean exhales, relieved. He’s not sure if Cas has any kind of culture, as a siren – he doesn’t want to inadvertently offend the guy.

It doesn’t seem that Cas’s culture has any kind of problem with nudity. Or understanding of personal space, for that matter.

Castiel leans closer and presses his hand against Dean’s tattoo, eyes wide. Again, it’s endearing, but it’s also _far too close_ and Dean can barely keep himself from shrinking backwards. Cas doesn’t notice, his thumb stroking across the ink-blackened skin.

“What is this?” He asks, his voice rough but light with curiosity and wonder, blue eyes blinking up at Dean. He’s remarkably proud of how steady his voice is when he replies, considering how close the siren is to him, and the fact that there’s a blunt _claw_ tracing the edge of the star. “It’s, um… It’s a tattoo,” he tells Cas, surreptitiously leaning back to try and put a little distance between them. Cas doesn’t notice, and crowds slightly closer.

Eventually, he has to raise his hands and gently push Cas away. “Personal space, dude,” he jokes, though he swallows thickly as his hands smooth over tanned skin, then fall away.

Castiel looks crestfallen, though, as if he doesn’t understand what he did wrong, and it makes Dean’s heart twist in his chest.

“Hey, man,” he murmurs, his voice soft, and he smiles reassuringly as he gives Cas’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s fine. It’s just… we generally don’t get so close to other people when we’ve just met. It’s… well, it’s a little odd.”

Castiel nods seriously, and his enrapt expression makes Dean grin.

The fire has burned down to its embers now, and Dean sighs, mentally preparing himself for a moment before standing – his muscles protest, and he barely suppresses a groan. Castiel’s movements are much more lithe and supple, and Dean decides that Cas must be pretty agile both on land and in water. Again, Cas standing up, is a little too much for him to handle right now, so he turns his gaze towards the forest.

“Well, better go exploring, I guess,” he muses, glancing across to Cas, than twisting to survey the open ocean.

It’s not like he’ll be getting off this island any time soon, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters may be added, depending on reception and feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, I struggled a lot with the direction of this chapter. It was seriously fighting me.
> 
> Thank you to [Makenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope) for helping me sort out my shit and beta-reading.

Over the next few weeks, Dean settles in to life on the island. It’s different to life on the mainland, of course, and even life on the ship, but that doesn’t make it bad. It’s… interesting.

As per his initial assessment, Dean discovers that the island is pretty small. It only takes him about an hour to walk its complete circumference along the beach. (Cas follows him from the water, blue eyes wide and curious, shadowing Dean’s every step. Weird siren.)

Its small size in no way makes the island uninhabitable, though. Dean has built himself a small shelter just behind the treeline, near where Cas set him down to sleep, out of logs and palm fronds and ropes woven from the thick grass. It’s not much, but it’s home, and it keeps the elements out at night when he stretches out on his simple raised pallet and stares up at the frond roof. (Castiel usually finds somewhere to sleep outside, but on the nights where a squall blows in from over the ocean and lashes the island with rain, he can never say no to Cas when he sneaks into Dean’s shelter. And if, in the stillness of the morning, Dean takes the opportunity to admire the sleeping Castiel with an unfettered gaze, well. No one else will ever know.)

He and Castiel go foraging and fishing every morning, turning it into somewhat of a game. Castiel always manages to bag the most fish, as Dean is armed only with his spear, whereas Castiel moves through the water with speed and grace that no human could ever hope to match. Once they have enough fish for the day, Castiel continues to show off, catching fish after fish and showing them to Dean with a wide grin before letting them return to the sea. Dean simply glares at him from the shallows where he stands with his tattered breeches rolled up to his knees.

Dean definitely gets his own back when they head inland to the trees, shimmying straight up the trunk of one of the palms and grinning down at Castiel, who stays firmly on the ground. The siren tried climbing along with Dean on the first day, when he realized that there were an abundance of date and coconut palms, as well as mango trees – but they soon discovered that the siren greatly dislikes heights when he reached the top and, against Dean’s warnings, looked down. Dean has been going solo since then, gripping the trunk with his thighs and tugging at the fruit until it dislodges and he can drop it down to Cas

The food for that day is stored inside Dean’s shelter for when he gets hungry – Cas doesn’t seem to eat, only nibbles at Dean’s food with sharp teeth whenever it’s offered – and then they have the rest of the day to do as they like. Sometimes Dean will make repairs or additions to his shelters, go exploring around the island, tend to the few berry bushes he’s transplanted that Castiel assures him are safe to eat. Sometimes he goes for a swim or works out on the beach – he’s more freckled than ever, and his skin is beginning to reach a tanned shade rivaling Castiel’s. Sometimes, though, they just sit and talk.

Dean tells Castiel about the mainland, and people, and his own life. Castiel is pretty tight-lipped about siren culture, and Dean gets the feeling that there just aren’t all that many of them around, and that they’re pretty solitary creatures. He’s still not sure why Cas decided to pull him from the ocean and help him set up on the island when he could just swim away, but he’s glad for the siren’s help and company. (Especially when he says something to make Castiel grin, those white teeth flashing in the sunlight, and Dean finds himself breathless, so glad that he’s not alone on this island.)

One of Dean’s favourite parts of his daily routine, however, is when he heads inland to the middle of the island, where water bubbles from the ground into a group of small, crystal clear pools. One is specifically designated for drinking water, but there’s another that flows into a large pool beneath the shade of some trees, and it’s there that Dean heads. He pretty much foregoes the shirt now – he’s not worried about walking around shirtless, and he’s long since gotten used to Castiel’s nudity, except for the odd awkward moment – but it’s a wonderful feeling to strip off his ratty breeches and wash them in the cool water, then slip into the pool himself while they dry in the sun on a nearby branch.

He always banishes Castiel to the beach when he does this, especially after the first time, when he’d caught the siren watching him with wide eyes from the trees, having followed him as he so often does. (And if Dean jerked off to the thought of blue eyes watching him from the trees, coming all over his tanned abdomen with a gasp, well. No one else will know but him.)

The pools are his solitude, where he can clean himself and simply relax. And more often than not – because he’s a grown man with _needs_ , damn it – he ends up with a hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself lazily beneath the water. If his thoughts sometimes turn to a sun-browned, lithe man with salt-stiffened hair and slitted blue eyes that make him feel as if all of him is on display? He’s the only one who knows.

Today is no different.

They’ve gone fishing, collected fruit from the trees (Dean nearly dropped a coconut on the siren’s head, and was pelted with half-rotten dates in revenge) and repaired the hole in the palm frond ceiling of his shelter that had woken him in a nasty, damp surprise when it had rained last night. He’s chatted with Cas for a while, run a few laps of the island with the siren easily keeping up in the water, then joined Castiel in the sea for some swimming – which eventually devolved into wrestling, broken off only when Dean grabbed onto a bare hip and realized how _naked_ Cas still was, even out of sight and below the water. After that, he decided he needed some time alone, and headed inland to the pools. It’s the one place where he knows Cas will respect his wishes for privacy, and he sighs happily as he slips beneath the surface of the cold, clear water.

After the ocean wrestling, Dean’s sporting an awkward semi that he’d tried his best to hide from the inquisitive siren, and for a while he just teases himself. His hands slide over his tanned skin, scrubbing at the grime and sweat and salt of the last day until he’s as clean as he can get, and then they skim lower. He bites down on his bottom lip as he fists his hand loosely around his cock, letting his head rest back against the rocky edge of the pool and his eyes slide closed. The memory of smooth skin and firm muscle beneath his hands drives his arousal, and he recalls the feeling of Castiel’s hands on him in turn, calloused and strong and sure, gripping at him and tugging him closer in an ebbing push and pull.

As always, though his hand moves in slow, sweeping strokes, it takes him little time to tip over the edge into orgasm, his lips parting in a soft moan as his release clouds into the clear water.

When he looks up, sated and weary and content, blue eyes stare back at him from the edge of the trees.

Castiel is half wrapped around the thick trunk of one palm, peeking out at Dean from behind it, and his eyes go wide as he realizes that Dean has spotted him.

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean growls as he shields himself beneath the water, telling himself that Cas was only there for a few moments, not long enough to see _everything_. The siren ducks his head apologetically, though his gaze is still fixed on Dean, a flush high on his cheeks. Dean glares at him, but the siren seems to be somewhat oblivious, his curious blue eyes roving over the parts of Dean’s body that are exposed. Castiel stays tucked behind the tree, blinking owlishly at Dean. There are a few beats of silence, which Castiel doesn’t seem eager to break. Eventually, Dean does.

“Why’re you here? You… you didn’t see everything, right?” Right? God, he’s not gonna be able to look the siren in the eye if he knows that Cas watched the entirety of his jerk-off session. The guilty look and sideways slant of Cas’s gaze confirms his worst suspicions, and he groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “What the fuck, man?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably, like a dog that’s been caught doing something wrong and knows it, but the look that he gives Dean when he glances back is all puppy-dog eyes. “I was just curious,” he mumbles, his voice soft and barely carrying across to Dean. “You’re here so often, and you never let me come. I just wanted to know what you do here.”

Damn his luck, for getting saddled with the most curious siren ever, who apparently just _has_ to follow Dean everywhere like they’re attached at the hip.

He can’t maintain any kind of resentment for the siren for too long, though, not when Castiel looks so damn _guilty_ about breaking Dean’s one rule. The siren was just curious, he didn’t know any better. “Just don’t fuckin’ do it again, okay?” He grumbles, pinning the man with a stare to let him know that he’s serious, and feels guilt of his own settle heavy in his stomach when Castiel shrinks back behind the tree. Cas has to learn though – the siren nods. Another moment passes, and then he’s disappearing back into the trees, leaving Dean on his own. Once the rustling of brush and undergrowth fades away, Dean leans back against the edge of the pool, his afterglow thoroughly ruined.

Still, he can’t help the soft arousal that curls through him when he realizes that Cas had been watching him touch himself the whole damn time.

When he finally returns to the beach, the fire is going and there is a small pile of dead fish and mangoes beside it – an apology from the siren, who is nowhere to be found. Castiel doesn’t reappear until the sun has well and truly set and Dean is in bed, listening to the rain lash at his shelter. In the faint light of the moon, he sees a shape slip in through the entrance, and shifts onto his side on the raised stretcher as Castiel shakes his wet hair and lies down on the palm frond floor beside Dean’s bed.

For someone who’s just as comfortable in the ocean as he is on land, Dean wonders why Castiel bothers to come into the shelter when it rains. Surely he’d be okay with a little water?

It’s not a question he wants to examine too closely, though.

They lie in silence for a while, both of them awake, until Castiel finally speaks. “I’m sorry, Dean.” His voice is heavy with regret, and Dean’s stomach churns with guilt. The siren hadn’t known what he was doing, of course. He was just being curious; Dean hadn’t been open and honest about his need for privacy, and that wasn’t Cas’s fault. The siren just… didn’t know any better. Dean shouldn’t be punishing him for something that isn’t his fault. Even if Cas had stayed for the whole time to watch him…

Had the situations been reversed, Dean probably would’ve done the same, though he’ll never admit that to any living soul. Cas is a _creature_ , he _feeds_ off people, kills them. That’s something that will always be a barrier between them.

Not enough of a barrier to keep them from being friends, though. Dean sighs, and drops a hand to skim his knuckles gently along Cas’s side in a reassuring stroke. “It’s fine, Cas.” The siren shifts into his touch, and Dean lets it linger for a second before withdrawing. They both fall asleep within minutes of each other.

The awkwardness between them eases after that, and the next few days return to a normal routine. They wake, eat, find food, swim, talk, run. Dean goes to the pools by himself. Cas doesn’t follow. They spend their evenings together, sometimes falling asleep by the fire as they watch the sparks and smoke spiral up towards the night sky. It’s just… normal.

Until Dean wakes one morning and leaves his shelter to find Castiel by the water’s edge, grey-skinned and unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that more is on the horizon. One more chapter, then maybe an epilogue.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sends sand spraying in all directions as he sprints down to the water’s edge, to the siren currently sprawled in the incoming surf, his hair plastered to his skull and his eyes closed. He looks so small, so empty, as Dean skids to a stop beside him, disbelief and pure fear swelling in his mind. Castiel has been his only friend here on the island, always by Dean’s side, even when he had the power to leave the insignificant human and never return. At some point in the last month, the siren has become irreplaceable to Dean.

Cas’s lips are faintly tinged with blue, and his chest barely rises with his weak breaths as Dean crouches beside him. Dean’s hands are shaking – he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help, doesn’t even know what’s wrong. He settles for scooping Castiel gently up off the sand and cradling him in his arms, supporting the siren’s lolling head in the crook of his elbow as he wills Castiel to wake up.

He _can’t_ be dying. Then Dean will be all alone. But it’s more than that, more than just a fear of being alone on the island that he has come to think of as his home.

He doesn’t want to lose _Cas_.

The idea of waking up every morning and not being greeted with that blinding smile, or no longer seeing the siren dart amongst the waves, coming up with fish every time… it terrifies Dean.

He chokes back a panicked sob, shifting his grip on Castiel’s limp form. “Cas, buddy, please,” he mumbles, his voice tight, as if he can’t breathe, as if there’s a pressure on his sternum that threatens to crush the breath from his lungs. “Cas, wake up, man. I _need_ you.” Dean gives the siren a gentle shake, watching as Castiel’s lips part slackly. There’s no response, and Dean can’t keep the tears back any longer.

One manages to spill over and slowly slides down his cheek as he gazes down at the limp siren. Now he’ll never know what could have been. His shoulders shake silently as the rays of the rising sun wash the beach in burnished orange and gold, and the waves hiss softly along the sand beneath them.

Everything is still.

And then Castiel’s breath hitches – a quiet sound, given that his breaths were so weak already, but a sound nonetheless.

His eyes blink open slowly, sluggishly, as if it takes a great effort for them to do so. It takes another few moments for them to focus on Dean, and when they do, Castiel’s face seems to change, shift, a weak smile pulling at his blue-tinged lips and the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Dean lets out an ugly sob and pulls Castiel closer, one hand finding the siren’s and holding it tight. “Cas, fuck, Cas, what’s happening? Are you…” He can’t get out the last word, can’t bring himself to say it around the tears that threaten to overwhelm him. Castiel looks so serene, gazing up into Dean’s eyes, though his hand is barely strong enough to squeeze Dean’s fingers.

“I’m dying, Dean,” he breathes, and Dean’s heart clenches at both the words and the weak rasp of his voice where it was once so clear and strong. A tear drips off the end of his nose and lands on Castiel’s cheekbone, who barely seems to notice. Speaking seems to be an exhausting task for him, but he carries on, each inhale ragged and shallow. “I haven’t fed. I’m starving. I… didn’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t… stand the look on your face if you knew I’d killed another person.”

Castiel’s eyes are wide and so, so blue, and Dean can’t wrap his head around the fact that Castiel was _killing himself_ just so that he could be with Dean, so that Dean wouldn’t look at him with disgust.

And in that moment, Dean realizes that he’s been killing Cas too.

Every time he looked at Castiel and saw Cas watching him in return, every time they would sit side by side next to the fire and look out over the ocean, every time Cas would turn to him with excitement shining in his eyes… there was always a barrier between them. And it was put there by Dean. Dean and his fear of what Castiel really was, what he could do, what he _had_ done in the past. Every time something, _anything_ , could have happened between them, Dean had pushed Castiel away because of his own principles. He’d tried to apply the rules of man to a siren, _his_ siren, and now… he’s killed him.

Dean’s crying freely now, sobs wracking his body as Castiel continues to watch him, his eyes awash with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Cas,” he rasps, over and over again, his free hand stroking through Castiel’s wet hair as his other keeps its hold on Castiel’s fingers. Castiel gives his hand another squeeze, weaker than the last, and hushes him with a sound barely audible over the quiet _hiss_ of the waves.

“It was my choice, Dean,” he whispers, blinking slowly as if that alone is a gargantuan effort. “I’m at peace with it.” And it looks as if he really, truly is, which is the blow that finally cracks Dean’s shattered heart.

“Why, Cas?” he sobs, but he already knows the answer, has for a while now, though he refused to see it, refused to look past the aspects of the siren that he didn’t understand or approve of. He knows it because Castiel suppressed those parts for Dean – not the claws or the teeth or the eyes, because Dean could accept that, but the purest essence of his nature; his need to feed. He knows it because of the way Castiel looks at him, his eyes soft.

He knows it when Castiel uses the last of his energy to exhale, “I love you,” and then his eyes close and he goes still in Dean’s arms.

Dean keens, a low, broken sound, and pulls Castiel’s limp body against his. His heart is still beating, but barely, his chest rising less and less with each labored inhalation and Dean realizes that Castiel is really dying and this is his last chance to do what he should have done so long ago.

“I love you too, Cas,” he chokes out, his vision swimming with tears, and bends his head to press his lips to Castiel’s slack mouth.

The siren exhales.

And then Dean feels a pull, deep in his sternum, a steady pressure as if there’s a hook lodged beneath his breastbone.

And the siren inhales, his chest rising, his heartbeat growing a little stronger.

Castiel’s lips move against his, softly, weakly, and the pulling sensation increases. Despite every instinct telling him to pull back, to break the kiss, Dean stays where he is. One of Castiel’s arms – arms that he couldn’t even lift a moment ago – comes up to wrap weakly around Dean’s neck, and his eyes fly open in shock. He finds Castiel staring back at him, slitted pupils surrounded by a sea of blue that is _glowing_ , stronger and brighter with every second that they kiss, every second that the pull in Dean’s chest increases.

If this is what will save Castiel, so be it.

Dean holds the siren close and kisses him tenderly, even as he feels his own energy being depleted, his head swimming and his limbs going leaden. In contrast, he can feel Castiel coming alive against him, from the steadiness of his heartbeat to the way Cas’s lips begin to move against his in this tender, open-mouthed kiss. The siren could drain Dean dry, and he wouldn’t care. As long as Cas lives.

When they finally break apart, it’s Castiel who has to hold Dean up, lest he slump back against the sand. He doesn’t feel as bad as Castiel had looked before, though – he’s just filled with a bone-deep weariness, wants to lie down against the wet-packed sand and sleep.

He forces his eyes open when a thumb strokes gently across his cheek, and finds Castiel gazing at him as if he holds all the secrets to the world. Maybe he does.

“Wha’… what was that?” Dean slurs, and Castiel blinks at him, tilting his head just slightly in that way that Dean loves. He can say it now. _Loves_.

“I’m not sure,” the siren replies, and Dean – admittedly now very out of it – gives a scoff that makes Castiel’s eyes crinkle in soft amusement. “I really don’t, Dean. I… I fed from you.” He sounds shocked, and Dean can’t help but mirror that sentiment.

“Don’ you have to… kill someone?”

Castiel’s eyes cloud, and he shifts his gaze away. Dean’s stomach churns with guilt – he’s the one who made the siren ashamed of who he is, of what he has to do to survive.

“Yes,” Castiel admits quietly, and while he stays close to Dean, still touching him, Cas refuses to meet his gaze. “Usually… it’s a bite to the throat, and then you drain the life-force through there. But…”

Dean finishes the sentence for him. “You were able to feed from me through a… a kiss?”

The siren inclines his head, his eyes still wide as if he can’t quite believe it, and Dean can’t help the relieved, giddy laugh that escapes him. Of course the solution was _that_ simple. If Dean had pulled his head out of his ass weeks ago, they could’ve avoided this whole mess. “Cas, if you pull this shit on me again, I’ll kill you myself, okay? If you need to feed, do it. Either from me, or…” Here, he hesitates, but he knows he needs to say it. Needs to make sure Cas knows it’s okay. “Or from wherever else you need to, alright?” He won’t judge the siren for doing what’s only natural to him. Not any more.

Cas is looking at him like he’s grown two heads, and Dean knows that he has a lot of fixing to do. “I love you, Cas,” he breathes, and from the way that the siren’s face lights up, that must feel as good for Cas to hear as it does for Dean to say. “I’m not going to try and make you something you’re not, okay?”

His exhaustion is catching up to him, though, his body demanding that he replenish the reserves of energy that Castiel took from him, and the siren must notice this because when Dean slumps against him, Cas carefully catches him and maneuvers them both back down onto the sand, Dean’s head pillowed on his chest.

Dean hums gratefully and lets his eyes close against the light of the dawn as the siren begins to sing softly to him. Cas’s fingers card through his hair ever so gently, careful not to scratch Dean with his claws. This is where he wants to be.

Dean falls asleep with the sounds of Castiel’s soft song in his ears and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked that - comments and kudos are wonderful feedback. There is the possibility of an epilogue (maybe with some smut) so let me know if that's something you're interested in. 
> 
> As always, I'm on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and always happy to take prompts.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I started writing this a few months ago, then put it aside and wasn't expecting to finish it, but... I got poked into writing it, and now it's done! And it's pretty damn cute.

Castiel hates being away from their island. After so many years as a nomadic creature, it’s strange to have a home, to have one place that he returns to over and over again.

But this is undoubtedly his home, and he can’t help but smile a sharp-toothed smile as he passes the spur of rock where he first pulled Dean from the frigid hold of the ocean and the bleak grasp of death. Further along is the beach where Dean did the same for him, pouring his life essence into Castiel’s veins and breathing life back into his lungs.

Feeding from Dean isn’t nearly as satisfying or satiating as killing. But he won’t risk the careful balance of his relationship with Dean for so simple a craving, not when he has other options. If he lost Dean, he doesn’t know what he would do.

He dives into an excited somersault as he nears the beach, his heart beating faster at the thought of seeing his beloved again. The smell of woodsmoke hangs in the air, and as Castiel finally stands out of the water, he sees Dean by their cabin, cooking fish over the fire.

It’s obvious when his mate notices him; Dean’s face lights up, his mouth widening in a grin, and he takes a second to appraise the siren’s nude form as he strolls up the beach. Of course, the appraisal only lasts a few seconds before Dean is standing and crossing the sand towards him. Dean pulls Castiel in for a kiss, which he’s only too happy to acquiesce to, sliding his hands into Dean’s hair and keeping him close.

 _This_ is where he should be. He relaxes into Dean’s arms, and takes his time kissing his human, until Dean needs to pull away to breathe.

“You’re back early,” Dean murmurs, pressing his forehead against Cas’s. Castiel slides his hands over sun-warmed skin until his hands settle on Dean’s hips, and presses another, more chaste kiss to his mate’s lips. Right now, he hates the fabric of Dean’s low-slung breeches, but he can be patient.

“I missed you,” he whispers against Dean’s skin. And he did. Every second that he’s away from his mate, and the home they’ve built together, is a second too long. “Besides, I did what I needed to do. The shipment should be arriving in one or two weeks, and it will have everything you wanted on it.”  
  
Personally, he doesn’t understand half of the things Dean had requested – seeds, alcohol, glass panes, and a myriad of other items he had forgotten as soon as he’d shucked his clothes at the waterfront of the closest port and dove back into the ocean.

One thing he had recognized and understood on the list, though.

A boat.

Dean wants a boat of his own, and that scares Castiel.

Dean loves Castiel as long as they’re on the island, but what will happen once he can leave? Will he still want to be with Castiel? It scares him to think about, and even now, he feels himself starting to close off, his throat closing up with fear.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean asks quietly, his hand cupping Castiel’s jaw, thumb stroking lightly over his cheek. “You okay?”

There’s no point in bringing it up right now. Castiel doesn’t want to mar the wonderful moment of his return. He rumbles out a few bars of song and noses close to Dean, feeling the human relax beneath his hands. “I am fine, Dean. Just tired.” He can’t help but chuckle against Dean’s throat. “May I sleep with you?”

Dean’s laughter is felt more than heard. “Since you asked so nicely,” he teases, and Castiel’s smile returns.

“Lead the way, beloved.”

~

They built their cabin from the ground up. It’s more substantial than the shelter that Dean had originally constructed for himself, with a second level built into the trees above – a kind of loft, where they sleep. Dean is good with his hands, in the most innocent sense of the word.

Castiel has never had a home before now, but he can definitely understand the appeal when he’s lying beside Dean in their makeshift bed, covered in light cotton sheets that Castiel had traded a chest of sunken doubloons for in their latest shipment. The russet-gold light of the sunset filters through their open windows and caresses his mate’s skin, beautifully smooth and freckled and naked.

He’d never thought that he’d find anyone, or even be capable of love. But here he is, lying beside his human, and his heart has never felt so full. Dean’s chest rises and falls beside him, eyelashes brushing over his cheekbones and his freckles fading into the rest of his tanned skin beneath the fading light.

Dean’s freckles are utterly mesmerizing to Castiel. He could (and has) spent days counting them, pressing kisses to them. They reach every single part of his body, since Dean rarely bothers with clothes these days, so the kissing has certainly devolved into… other activities. Castiel smiles to himself and grazes his hand over Dean’s hip beneath the sheet.

“You’re insatiable,” Dean mutters into his down-stuffed pillow. There is sweat still cooling on his skin, and Castiel can’t suppress the feral pleasure he feels in knowing he has marked his mate. “Gimme a bit more time before you want to go again. And maybe some food.”

Castiel curls closer, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. Dean shifts sluggishly, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him in. “That was more than enjoyable enough for now,” Castiel mumbles against Dean’s skin. “I’m just admiring you.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Dean’s chest. “Dunno if there’s much to admire, but as long as you think I’m pretty.”

“Very pretty,” Castiel confirms with a soft smile.

They lie there until the sun has set and they have both cooled, and Castiel pulls the sheets further up over them both, even though his own body heat is more than enough to keep them both warm. He could sleep in the ocean or under the stars if he wanted to, but there’s something about being here, with Dean, under the roof of the home that they have built for themselves, that just can’t compare.

Plus, he quite likes the coziness of the sheets, and how they feel against his skin – although he does have to kick them off when it gets too hot. On those nights, he keeps Dean warm with his own body heat, the two of them pressed together in a tangle of limbs until it’s impossible to discern where one ends and the other begins.

Castiel would do anything for Dean – die for him, kill for him. He loves his mate with all his heart. But Dean’s request for a boat still scares him. As long as they are without a boat, Castiel is the one who swims to the mainland to barter with ship captains and traders.

If Dean has a ship of his own…

Castiel would do many things for Dean, but the one thing he could never do is stop him from leaving.

And that terrifies him.

“Dean?” he whispers into the darkness, fear suddenly gripping him. He’s not sure if Dean is still awake, but he gets his answer when his mate grumbles under his breath and shifts, his head now tucked in under Castiel’s chin and breath puffing over his collarbone.

“Yeah, Cas?”

Now that he’s here, in the moment, he’s unsure of how to broach the topic. He doesn’t even know that he _wants_ to know the answer.

But he has to.

He takes a deep breath, then exhales shakily.

“Do you want the boat because you want to leave the island? Leave me?”

There is a long, silent pause. Castiel can feel Dean’s chest still steadily rising and falling beneath his touch. It’s a few more seconds before Dean does move, more awake now and shifting so that they’re eye-to-eye, Dean’s hand cupping his jaw. In the darkness, Castiel’s vision can pick out the soft details in his expression, the concerned look in his eyes.

“Cas,” he says quietly, his eyes serious. “I love you. You’re it for me, this is my home. I want to grow old here, and I never want to leave your side. The boat isn’t so that I can leave and never come back, and I promise that to you with every piece of my heart. _I love you_.”

Castiel shudders in Dean’s arms and presses their foreheads together. Relief floods through him, so strong that tears threaten to spill over his cheeks. “I love you too,” he whispers into the space between them, and he presses close to Dean, letting his mate hold him and reassure him with long strokes of Dean’s calloused palm along his back. It’s soothing and relaxing and soon enough, Castiel is asleep against Dean’s shoulder, his hand resting over Dean’s heart.

The next morning, they wake with the sun and slowly rouse themselves.

All Castiel can think, as he’s standing knee-deep in the ocean and watching Dean begin his swim, bathed in the early morning light, is that he never thought he would be capable of loving anyone as much as he loves Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Treading unknown Waters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350665) by [Nera_Solani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nera_Solani/pseuds/Nera_Solani)




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